


Let me tell you a story about war:

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Angst, Do not come here looking for happy there isn't any ok, F/M, Heavy Angst, I won't fix it, Implied Sexual Content, You Have Been Warned, heavily implied, it will always be sad, there won't be more chapters, this is not a happy fic, writing this made ME cry ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm offering you a night. It's all I can give."</p><p>It isn't true -- but she doesn't know that -- and he's afraid to ask for anything more.</p><p>"Okay."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let me tell you a story about war:

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Richard Siken's "War of the Foxes"

He hasn't seen Natasha in months when Tony tells him she is in town.

 

"I'm throwing a big party, you should come. She said she'd be there."

 

"Drop it, Tony."

 

The response is automatic, weary with repetition.

As usual, it does nothing to dissuade the other man.

 

"Come on, this is your chance lover-boy."

 

"I said drop it."

 

He can feel Tony's eyes on him, as if his features might hide some pieces of the puzzle he is currently trying to figure out.

 

"I don't get it. You've missed her, haven't you?"

 

More than he can say.

 

"We don't want the same thing." Steve replies, voice quiet with the weight of regret that he hadn't said something to her earlier, or maybe that he hadn't said anything at all. The sudden spree of solo missions she'd volunteered for couldn't be unrelated, not given the timing. He takes a pull from the glass of scotch in front of him, and as usual it does nothing to numb the ache deep in his chest.

 

Tony snorts.

"I've seen how you look at each other. Pretty sure you both want to go to some dark corner, tear each other's clothes off and--"

 

"Please stop."

 

Tony sighs and stands up, tossing a few bills on the bar.

"Promise you'll come by? It'll be the first time the team is together since the whole alien thing."

 

It will be the first time the team is together since Steve shared a cab with her; since she'd come up into his apartment pleading fatigue; since they had shared hot kisses on his couch, then his bed. Since they had both been too tired for anything more and fallen asleep, curled together.

Since he had awoken to an otherwise empty apartment the next morning, to find her already gone off on a mission.

 

They hadn't spoken. Not once in the next months. It was only natural to connect that with his admission that night, his confession of interest in her that went beyond team camaraderie. 

 

"Wouldn't want to ruin that solidarity, y'know?"

 

Tony's delayed comment -- he must have been waiting for a response from Steve and only spoken when he realized he wasn't getting one -- pulled Steve out of his thoughts.

 

"Of course not." Steve says, and gives Tony a weak smile. "I'll try to stop by."

 

It feels ridiculous to be affected as much as he is. But having a woman avoid you for months after you'd told her you liked her – a lot – well, it wasn't exactly encouraging. Especially after being so sure she'd felt the same way, judging by the kisses and caresses and whispered words. It is a constant disappointment, coloring his view of the world. They'd gotten along immediately, fought together well, started into something more. Only to have her leave before he had woken up.

 

He couldn't know that she'd left out of fear of how much she wanted to stay, had to prove to herself that she was still the perfect Agent by staying away no matter how much she wanted to return to him.

 

Natasha spoke through touch.

 

Words were a way to spin lies, to pull someone into a trap. She wouldn't dare use that on him. So when the words had fallen from his lips, she had caught them on hers to press them into his mouth, to let him feel the shape of them through her ghosting touch and gentle kisses.

But it scared her, how much she wanted to stay.

 

Natasha couldn't stay, never stayed anywhere. She didn't know how. So she had reluctantly risen from his side and denied herself even a backwards glance.

 

He can't guess how much she missed him, and she will never say, because words are for lies.

 

He goes to the party feeling out of place in formal wear, and she's already there, looking exactly in her element as she has conversations he knows she cares nothing about, feigning interest.

They don't talk for a long time.

 

But she asks him to dance, and he accepts. He doesn't know how to say no. Doesn't want to, really.

 

There are a couple minutes of awkward smalltalk, both remarking on how busy they've been (she has, if only to distract herself; he hasn't) before she runs her hand from his shoulder to squeeze at the firm muscle of his upper arm, unable to meet his eyes, looking at the handkerchief tucked in the breast pocket of his jacket instead. She can't stay, but she wants to give him the only thing she could.

 

"I'm flying out tomorrow, but Tony is letting me stay here...He gave me a room and everything. But it's a bit big. Would be a shame to waste it all on one person..."

She looks up at him from under her eyes, and he shakes his head.

 

"You know what I want."

 

She doesn't let him see how that affects her. She wants a chance to tell him everything he meant to her, even if it was just once. And she won't even get that chance.

 

She tries to explain, to sway him. Tries not to look as desperate as she feels.

 

"I'm offering you a night. It's all I can give."

 

It isn't true -- but she doesn't know that -- and he's afraid to ask for anything more.

 

He pauses, searching her eyes for any hint of longing for him as he feels for her. Natasha is so emotionless he wonders if she has forgotten how to let her guard down when it was safe to do so. But she is willing to give him something, even though she feels nothing. He can't refuse, not when he knows this is his only chance. Even if it's wrong because he wants so much more. Even if it breaks him.

 

"Okay."

 

They look at each other with checked desire, and she slowly pulls him by the hand to the rooms that were hers for a night, like he is.

 

She has never been touched this way before; strong men usually liked to remind her of the fact with constant overuse of force. Natasha liked that he doesn't, that he treats her with an almost religious reverence.

 

"I'm leaving in the morning."

 

He busies himself with carefully undoing the strap on her heels to ease them off.

 

"I know."

 

"Is that okay?"

 

She lets down her guard, just for a moment to let the worry enter her voice, and Steve meets her eyes once more.

 

"It has to be."

 

He doesn't move when she slides her hands under his jacket to shrug it off his shoulders, or when she pulls at his bow tie and undoes the buttons on his vest. Instead, he watches her.

He didn't know Natasha was the woman he wanted until she was there, filling where he lacked and warming the places of him still cold from the ice. Now, he had never been more sure of anything in his life.

 

Steve lifts his hands up to her, and she unfastens his cuff links with the same languid precision before undoing the buttons of his shirt to let it fall on the floor. She pulls his undershirt out from where it is tucked into his pants, and only then does he move to tug it off over his head to stand bare chested before her.

 

Natasha reaches out to lay her hands up on his shoulders before sliding them down his torso. She has been with men like this before; strong leaders with bodies to match their personality. Steve is a softer strength, and the memories of the others suddenly seem harsh and garish in comparison to his quiet determination, his unassuming resolve. He doesn't move as she explores his skin, as motionless as if he were standing at attention on the parade ground.

Every inch a soldier, a protector. He doesn't know how to do anything else. He would protect her, if she let him. Even if she didn't need it, he would do it. He would be there as a constant support, holding her steady in the rare moments when she wasn't quite able to stand on her own.

 

"Turn around," he says softly, and it takes her a minute to realize why before she does, pulling her hair away from her neck. He unclasps her dress, and when the zipper is down she steps out of it, left in her underclothes and sheer stockings.

 

He takes a minute to look her over, and there isn't anything but respect and gratitude in his eyes.

 

She's never encountered that before either.

 

Steve reaches for her, hands at her hips to pull her closer while leaning down to kiss her. She stretches up to him, basking in the warmth of his goodness and loops her arms around his neck. When he straightens, still holding her, she wraps her legs around his waist, squeezing at his hips with strong, slender thighs.

 

Mouth to hers he carries her to the bed, laying her down gently with one knee up on the bed, hands on either side of her.

 

When he draws back to look at her, she pulls him back down and he ducks his head against the crook of her neck, breathing deeply and trying to commit this to memory, trying to keep her with him for as long as possible. Natasha runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck, letting him stay for several minutes before she moves her hands over to his shoulders.

 

"Steve..."

 

They strip out of the rest of their layers, and Natasha knows immediately that this isn't sex. What they're doing could only be described as making love, and that scares her, too. Many men have had her due to her line of work, but she doesn't remember the last time she made love. It feels unfamiliar and dangerous, territory yet to be explored. It's not an unwelcome feeling.

 

"You're beautiful," he murmurs and she can't help but smile sadly. She's heard that before. Somehow it sounds different coming from him.

 

"So are you."

 

He kisses her and she trembles, crying out his name as he shudders against her, muscles tensed and skin slightly sticky with sweat.

She brushes hair out of his eyes, wondering why he won't look at her.

 

Steve rolls them to be facing each other, draws her up against him in a secure embrace. The moment isn't as sweet as he would have hoped, not knowing that tonight is their only night. He pulls her leg up over his hip.

 

"I need you."

 

Natasha can't help but laugh.

"You just had me. Or don't you remember?"

 

The humor falls flat when she sees the sadness in his features, hears the melancholy tone.

 

"Once isn't enough."

 

His eyes are locked to hers the entire time, pleading, aching, wanting.

She has nothing but apologies.

 

When they are both too wearied, too sated to continue, feeling slack and loose limbed with her now straddled across his knees, he pulls her tight, resting his ear just above her breast to hear her heartbeat. As much as he tries, he can't make this moment anything but bitter.

 

Closing his eyes in hopes that will keep him from crying, he lets out a long, shaky breath.

"...I love you."

 

She hopes he doesn't hear her sniff, notice the tear she swipes away with her palm.

She can't say it.

 

"I-I know."

 

He fails in his attempt to keep his composure and releases a soft noise of absolute anguish before the sobs begin shaking his shoulders. He clutches her to him, begging with the force of his grip for her to stay.

 

She holds him, combs her hands through his hair while taking slow, deep breaths, blinking rapidly.

 

They fall asleep with his arms pinning her loosely to him, her back pressed to his chest.

She feels his tears wet her skin, his breath coming out in hitching bursts of warmth.

 

He can't see the tears that are rolling silently down her cheeks, hot with regret.

 

Neither of them can decide whether it would have been better not to have been with each other. Even with the memories, it is all overshadowed by the fact that they both knew that the first time is also the only time, that he won't ever hold her again in his arms with a fierce, possessive strength, that she won't feel the line of his jaw beneath her hand as she kisses him with a tenderness that is almost foreign to her.

 

In the morning, she tries so carefully not to disturb him so that he doesn't have to watch her leave.

He wakes right before she does, eyes still closed when she leans in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

 

He knows he's strong enough to hold her back, to make her stay.

 

But he can't move, can't do anything.

 

She stops to look back at him, hoping he heard what she had been telling him with every embrace, every brush of her fingers or her lips. She swallows back the tightness in her throat to whisper "Goodbye, Steve.", and then she's gone, scrubbing a hand under her eyes, not used to her emotions boiling over the carefully crafted mask.

 

He lies for several minutes just shaking, not having known he could cry so much. It seems likely that some day he'll reach the end, but right now, when he opens his eyes to see the empty side of the bed, the ache feels bottomless, and he wonders for the first time what it would be like to sleep for another seventy years.

 


End file.
